


Perfect Sense

by charlottepriestly



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, One Shot, only a hint of angst but it has smut too and a happy ending as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottepriestly/pseuds/charlottepriestly
Summary: “Bring me ‘round to my senses,‘Til I’m lost and found again.”
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 45
Kudos: 262





	Perfect Sense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachesandlesbians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/gifts).



> In this fic, Miranda has hyperesthesia, which is a condition where one's senses are heightened (more sensitive, if you will). I've manipulated it slightly to suit my writing, so it in no way attempts to accurately represent what it's like to live with such a condition.
> 
> Dedicated to the wonderful peachesandlesbians <3
> 
> Thank you elle for being the best beta and friend I could have ever hoped for ily
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think :)
> 
> Lots of love xx

The first thing Miranda noticed about her, apart from the terrible sense of style and concealed prettiness hidden beneath that plebeian hairstyle, was that she smelled of lavender and jasmine. In her life she’d been suffocated by a million odours of varying revulsion and pleasantness, but this scent was so delectable and potent that, for a moment, Miranda swooned. 

She busied herself behind her desk, opening her drawer and fetching her glasses, fluttering through the newspaper without actually reading the words printed on the pages. She chose to focus on the abhorrent clothes and the unflattering hair and the lack of make up, but part of her was light-headed by the heavenly aroma that filled her office. Never before had she smelled anything so alluringly sweet. 

“That’s all,” she said in a desperate attempt to make this woman leave. Satisfaction and relief swept through her as she watched the fashion disaster scoff and turn around, striding out of her office.

 _Thank God,_ Miranda thought, but didn’t have a second to put down the newspaper before the girl rounded on her. She strode forward towards Miranda’s desk with a defiance in her eyes and a proud tilt of her chin that was surprisingly invigorating. She was giving some speech about work ethic and intelligence, but Miranda was too busy concentrating on breathing through her mouth to focus on what was being said. The maddening scent was clouding her mind, shutting off all her other senses, and words failed her when she attempted to turn the girl away.

Mercy came in the form of Nigel. The moment he strode in, Miranda turned to him like a lifeline. His words were a jumbled mess to her, but at least the girl left. Against her will, Miranda’s eyes followed her for a moment before she forced them to focus on the proofs Nigel was talking about. 

Slowly, the air around her started to thin, the intoxicating aroma dissolving until all that was left was a stale odour that was painfully dull and lifeless. She immediately missed the essence of jasmine, the richness of lavender. She felt at such loss that she stared blankly into space, barely listening to Nigel droning on and on.

In a moment that she would later deem as weak and impulsive, she called Emily into the office and gave the instructions that would change everything.

.oOo.

The first time she saw her dressed in designer clothes, Miranda’s knees nearly buckled. It was a miracle she remained upright, even though she did freeze in place, her lips parting and her speech stuttering to a halt. Andrea turned to face her, an expectant, eager smile lighting up her face. Miranda’s eyes roamed her figure, up and down and up again. It was difficult to fathom that this girl- no, this _woman_ was the same that had worn formless polyester, hideous skirts and even more hideous shoes. She was so _beautiful._

With a suddenly dry mouth, Miranda licked her lips, trying to get herself under control. This reaction was ridiculous and unnecessary. Beautiful women surrounded her everyday. This was no different. She was just unsettled, taken aback by the surprising make-over. Straightening her shoulders, she strode to her desk, holding her breath as she passed by Andrea. She did her utmost not to look at her again. She failed.

After that day, looking at her assistant became a bigger distraction than anything Miranda had ever experienced before. It was exasperating. She was assaulted by colours too sharp or too dull or too abhorrent on a daily basis. But Andrea was… well. She was a pleasure to look at in a world that so often offended Miranda’s delicate sensibilities. 

Miranda was also definitely going insane, because she could swear each day Andrea got more beautiful than the last, and it wasn’t just because of the clothes - even though the multitude of colours, cuts, and textures were an array of wonders Miranda had yet to grow tired of exploring. No, Andrea was more and more beautiful because she became more daring and efficient, to the point that she sent thrills of something unknown down Miranda’s spine. She could anticipate Miranda’s needs and desires better than anyone she’d ever met (her array of husbands included), and Miranda had to fight off the ridiculous suspicions that Andrea could actually read her mind.

Andrea also didn’t cower from Miranda’s steely gaze. On the contrary, coffee-coloured eyes looked unwaveringly into her own, without fear or judgement or ulterior motive. She simply gave Miranda all her attention, and did not treat her as the fearful editor that could turn grown men to stone with her icy glare. It was baffling at best, and exasperating at worst.

Initially it had been a challenge to become accustomed to it, but after two weeks of Andrea holding eye contact with her for endless moments frozen in time (where she most definitely did _not_ lose her breath), Miranda felt invigorated by this new Andrea. The woman had bloomed into something magnificent; a force to be reckoned with. Miranda could not help but watch, even when the experience was much like staring directly into the sun.

Until the sun was gone.

.oOo.

The first time they touched was months after Andrea had left _Runway._ It was completely by accident, of course. They were in public, at a charity event of all places, surrounded by the elite society of New York. Andrea was covering the event for that little rag she worked for, and the moment she spotted Miranda, she waltzed up to her as if she was completely unafraid - or perhaps oblivious - to the repercussions. Miranda had braced herself as she watched the woman approach her. She was wearing a stunning Valentino gown, all dark layers and teasing hints of skin, her hair done up in a bun with loose curls framing her beautiful features. A strip of black lace was tied tightly around her neck with a pearl in its middle, and matching earrings accentuated her neck. She was a vision, and Miranda clung to her champagne glass as if holding on for dear life.

“Hello, Miranda,” she said with a bright, honest smile, and then-

_Oh._

Lavender and jasmine. Miranda felt it flow through her. Her eyelids fluttered shut against her will, her grip on the flute tightened until her knuckles turned white as she revelled in the essence she’d missed so dearly for the past year.

“Miranda?”

Her eyes flew open to find almond ones fixed on her. Andrea was gazing at her with a worried frown, and Miranda was suddenly brought back to the reality of the situation.

“Andrea,” she managed, but her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asked, stepping closer. Miranda took a step back.

“I--” she stammered. She couldn’t understand what was happening, why her chest was tightening so much she could hardly breathe, why looking at this woman was making her ache like there was a knife twisting in on itself between her ribs. “I have to go.”

Yes, she needed to leave. She needed to get out of here. She needed to go outside and get some air and stay away from this woman until her mind forgot all about the scent of lavender and jasmine. Striding as quickly as she could without seeming hurried or frantic (there was still an image to maintain, after all) she made her way out of the ballroom and into the empty entrance hall. The staccato beat of her sharp heels on the marble floor was the only sound in the large, ornate space, but it echoed in her ears too loudly. A second pair of heels came from somewhere behind her, their pace far quicker than was usually deemed appropriate at events like these.

“Miranda, wait!”

Miranda’s steps faltered, but she tried her best to recover, to keep marching forward. She was almost there-

“Miranda!”

A burst of warmth on her wrist took her by surprise, the touch so foreign and soft that she froze. Searing sensation shot up her arm, like a sharp current prickling at her skin, tearing through her nerves and spreading down her entire body until she felt flooded with heat. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and a faint, rapid breathing that did not belong to her.

“Please,” Andrea said, her voice so close that the sound strained in Miranda’s ears.

Slowly, tentatively, she turned around. Her eyes were swept into dark ones that searched her face for something Miranda could not comprehend. The hand at her wrist lowered to her pulsepoint, fingertips following the veins there like a trail carved by winding rivers. The heat inside Miranda pulsed until she was set alight in a scorching flame.

“Are you okay?” Andrea repeated, but Miranda could not answer. It was too loud inside her head. Andrea was standing so close that Miranda felt as if she’d drown in an ocean of lilac and ivory. It was all too much. She turned on her heel, pulling her arm away from Andrea’s delicate hold, and escaped into the night. 

The fresh air smelled dry and hollow. Her wrist burned against the emptiness surrounding it.

.oOo.

The first time they kissed, her first thought was that nothing had ever tasted as sweet as Andrea’s lips. It was the most divine feeling. Soft and warm and breathtaking. It was everything she hadn’t known she wanted, and everything she’d ever needed. She was torn apart and brought alive by the feeling of Andrea in her arms, her lips caressing hers as if both their lives depended on it.

Andrea’s skin was the most exquisite taste she’d ever had the pleasure of exploring. Laying above her, feeling her everywhere, Miranda could not get enough. She kissed and licked and bit everywhere she could reach while Andrea writhed and hummed and moaned beneath her. She felt so pliant, so delectable against her, Miranda was lost in ecstasy. She touched every inch of the smooth silk under her fingers. She kissed her again and again until she couldn’t breathe. It made her delirious with desire.

“My fingertips have missed the touch of your skin all my life,” she moaned against Andrea’s neck.

Andrea arched against her, clutching at her back, pulling her closer. She repeated Miranda’s name like a prayer, and Miranda had never heard anything more enticing. She opened her lips against a pliant breast, hardly able to believe how incredible it felt under her tongue, sucking and pulling and teasing until Andrea couldn’t speak anymore. When short nails scraped down her spine, Miranda lost any semblance of composure she had left.

With firm intent, she lowered herself down Andrea’s body, leaving trails of kisses and love bites until she was draped between two smooth thighs. She did not waste a moment longer. Leaning in, her taste buds erupted in rapture as she ran her tongue over the sweet wetness. A moan was torn out of her as she ravished the lucious flesh under the mouth. Nothing could have prepared her for the taste of Andrea. 

It was so overpowering that there was no hesitation in her mind, no doubts that her inexperience would hinder her in any way. All she could focus on was the heated skin, like velvet to the touch; the rich essence that coated her tongue, her lips, her chin; the thighs shaking on either side of her head; the sounds filling the room as Andrea cried out in rapture.

Fingers threaded through Miranda’s hair, holding her close as Andrea’s hips started bucking against her face, and Miranda was so lost in lust that she didn’t think before shoving her hand between her own legs and riding her fingers in a desperate frenzy. When Andrea’s body coiled and tensed, her moans cutting off into a breathless, keening wail, Miranda followed her over the precipice, her body swept into waves of ecstasy as she drowned in the exquisite flavour of Andrea.

“Oh,” Andrea breathed, falling limp onto the bed. “Oh.”

With as much strength as she could muster, Miranda crawled up the beautiful body displayed for her before falling into Andrea’s arms. Nuzzling an elegant shoulder as she attempted to catch her breath, she whispered the only thing that mattered.

“Andrea.”

.oOo.

The first time Andrea told her she loved her, Miranda was overcome with emotion. She’d always felt like three little words couldn’t possibly overwhelm people the way so many poets described. She’d never understood how someone could feel so boundless, so wonderful and infinite, just because they’d heard the tell-tale phrase. But when Andrea spoke the words, looking at her as if the universe began and ended with Miranda, there was nothing she could do but pull the woman against her. She held her close, buried her face against a soft neck, breathed her in. Her throat was tight with emotion, her mind trying to conjure something to say but coming up empty. She’d never heard anything as beautiful as Andrea confirming all that Miranda had been hoping for.

“Are you sure?” She finally said, without even thinking the words. Her voice sounded almost as fragile as she felt. It was a ridiculous thing to ask, but she needed to know. She didn’t want to believe something so important unless it was completely, irrevocably true.

Andrea pulled away slightly, her arms draped over Miranda’s shoulders, and smiled at her in that way that made Miranda’s heart squeeze in her chest. She reached up and tenderly brushed a silver lock of hair away from her eye.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

_“_ _No, I will never shut the doors of my senses._

_The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight._

_Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,_

_And all my desires ripen into fruits of love.”_

_\- Rabindranath Tagore_


End file.
